


Dreamlike

by ghermez



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Birthday Sex, Blow Jobs, Friends With Benefits, Hinata Shouyou is Sunshine, Love is hard, M/M, Oikawa is tender and deserves the sex, One Night Stands, Post-Time Skip, Strawberry flavored lube is bomb
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-20
Updated: 2020-07-20
Packaged: 2021-03-04 19:20:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25401514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghermez/pseuds/ghermez
Summary: They are mirrors of hands against necks, counting every hitched breath and heartbeat. For a second, he thinks that this is romantic, then scrubs the idea from his mind. They are both slightly drunk. They’re dreaming, wading through desire. Nothing more, nothing less.#oikawaweek2020 ("the best way to celebrate/ his favorite kind of surprise")
Relationships: Hinata Shouyou/Oikawa Tooru
Comments: 20
Kudos: 159
Collections: Oikawa Week 2020





	Dreamlike

Oikawa has never paid much attention to his birthday, and ever since he got a one-way ticket to Argentina, the date has turned into the day he answers video-calls during his afternoon breaks. So, when he gets a video call request as he’s following his teammates through the busy nightlife of Sao Paulo, the routine brings a smile to his face. He didn’t realize it’s almost midnight.

“What are you doing to celebrate?” Iwaizumi asks, voice thick with sleep, his hair wet. He can’t believe Iwaizumi goes to bed at eight o’clock. Oikawa inspects a beaded necklace.

He shows it to Iwaizumi, which prompts a groan. “If you come back with that thing around your neck, I might just throttle you.”

To that, he lets out a laugh and teases, “Iwa-chan, is that a threat or a promise?”

Iwaizumi groans then hangs up.

Even when he is back in bed, there is a smile etched onto his mouth. He reads the texts the Seijoh players sent him over the past hour. He even gets a brisk, “Happy birthday,” from Kyoutani which especially brings moisture to his eyes.

No one really pays much attention to the fact that Oikawa has turned a year older, that he’s celebrating away from home, family, and friends. Some say happy birthday then suggest taking him out to get wasted. He pretends to decline the offer but gets dressed in a semi-clean t-shirt anyway, excited despite himself. Until he’s walking towards a restaurant and hears none other than Japanese. Then he’s glimpsing a slice of home, jumping all over the beach, turning heads, Oikawa’s included. This seems more divine intervention than coincidence. How does he and Hinata Shouyou cross pass on the other side of the world from whence they’d sprouted? Then again, listening to Hinata’s reason unravels that knot of confusion. Figures that a guy like Hinata, so ravenous he threatens to swallow up everyone he comes across, would try something this sudden? (He ignores the sound of Iwaizumi telling him he’s as equally hungry as guys like Hinata.)

It’s really the least he can do for Hinata, afterwards, taking him out for dinner, and it doesn’t hurt that it feels like a gift to himself to sit across Hinata and talk about the past with fondness rather than bitterness. The past exists for Oikawa as his base, and only someone like Hinata, who has clawed his place as a notable player can understand. He doesn’t say as much, lets the conversation end, then gets roped into playing on the beach, then ends the night by losing a bet to two beer-hungry brothers.

But then, what has started on his birthday becomes a comfortable little habit. Shouyou doesn’t blink when Oikawa shows up on the beach the next day, ready to rise to the challenge.

After a couple of fumbles, it’s a bit too sweet to win, especially with Hinata a heavy weight against his back, happily clinging to him like Oikawa has handed him a slice of eternal victory. He looks at Hinata and wonders whether how many people Hinata has managed to inspire like this, with energy and unfiltered joy and love for the sport.

On his last night, they don’t hesitate to move from another win on the beach to that first place at which they dined. He tells Hinata to order all he likes, his treat again, and Hinata’s enthusiasm makes Oikawa a little hungrier.

In no time, Oikawa is all relaxed limbs, leaning across the table, their emptied plates stacked aside, watching Hinata scratch at a spot right under his chin, bringing Oikawa’s attention to the way Hinata’s jaw has gotten sharper, his face losing its rounded youthfulness. It isn’t the first time Oikawa has noticed the differences a year in Brazil has made in Hinata Shouyou, but he’s a little hazy from the beer he is drinking and can’t be blamed for admiring what’s clearly stimulating in Hinata.

Besides, it doesn’t hurt to look, right?

They’re lingering over conversation, caring more about the company than the precise words they exchange. Hinata shines as he talks of how hard it is to adjust to the sand, eyes sparkling in challenge, and Oikawa feels like he’s in direct contact with the sun. He wonders if the boy’s skin would burn him if he dares to touch. Neither one of them makes a move to get up, so Oikawa orders another beer.

“Are you sure you don’t want any?”

Hinata fidgets in his seat, broad shoulders emphasized under his T-shirt. Oikawa watches a drop of sweat worship the smooth skin of Hinata’s forearm. “I’ve never actually tried any so… I don’t know if I’ll handle it well.”

The idea of witnessing a first of Hinata Shouyou makes Oikawa raise his hand and promise, “I’ll take care of you, don’t worry.”

They’re brazen words of a man who has no idea that Hinata grows an appetite for the light beverage from the first second in which a drop touches his tongue, then begins guzzling his pint with ease, and saying, in not words but shy glances, that he wants more. Oikawa is weak and tries to satiate that desire.

In no time, Hinata has flushed cheeks and loose limbs, requiring Oikawa to support him from one side, and apologizing to the waitress for almost forgetting his change.

“Seriously, chibi-chan? You’re this lightheaded?”

Hinata sways close, his face shining and tan under the flickering street light. “That was fun, Oikawa-san. I feel so… light.”

Oikawa’s heart skips a beat. He tightens his hold around Hinata’s waist then lets go, agony spreads through his hand from fingertip to wrist but readjusts his hold and maneuvers the boy, all seventy kilos of him, over his shoulders. “Hold onto me tight, ‘kay?”

Hinata mumbles something but it’s muffled, his hot breath blowing softly through the hair at Oikawa’s temple, his weight a warm welcome. He doesn’t bother waking up Hinata to ask where he lives; it’s easier to simply walk over to his hotel. After an awkward couple of seconds in the lobby, convincing the receptionist that it’s a friend who had a little too much to drink, he gets into the elevator. Hinata doesn’t stir, simply tightens his arms around Oikawa’s neck a dangerous amount until they’re inside his room. He locks the door, and promptly drops Hinata’s limp body onto his bed.

Water, a shower, and sleep. That should sober him up, but as Oikawa drags Hinata into a sitting position, it becomes clear to him that it’ll be a struggle.

Hinata simply blinks at him, pupils dilated, and giggles, “You’re so pretty, Oikawa-san.”

He’s never been one to lose his head over compliments, but to hear that from Hinata unhinges him a little. He shakes his head and gives up on making Hinata shower. Seeing him naked would be the last straw, and he is terrified of acting through his beastly desires. He grabs two bottles of water from the fridge, lamenting how much they’ll cost him upon checkout—damn you, capitalism—and leaves them atop the bedside table.

Hinata has spread himself out like an eagle, every limb going in a different direction, but there’s no way Oikawa is sleeping on the floor—it’ll kill his back and he has to be in top form for his return to Argentina tomorrow. The solution is easy: he scoots Hinata to the side and wriggles into whatever space he finds. It doesn’t seem very feasible at first, not with Hinata resisting every attempt Oikawa puts in organizing his limbs. He looks too happy like that, though, so Oikawa squeezes into the side by the wall and finds a corner of the pillow where Hinata isn’t drooling.

He’s never had to share quarters this closely with another person, not even during his high school years. Call it the private school student in him, but he’s fascinated by the tight fit of arms and legs, Hinata’s hot breath against his face, and the way his heart seems to have forgotten to properly function. That’s how Oikawa falls asleep, with a short, hot engine next to him, breathing into his neck and wrapping his strong thighs around him until they are all Oikawa can think of.

He wakes up in the middle of the night—or is it early morning—to get a drink of water and startles at the sight of bright eyes watching him.

“What the—are you watching me?”

“Yeah. I guess. Kind of. You looked so peaceful. You hardly ever snore, and you don’t stir at all. I thought you were dead, to be honest.” Hinata is talkative when he’s sleepy, apparently. He seems to be more coherent than the jelly-like form Oikawa wrestled into the elevator—he checks the clock—four hours ago. It’s nowhere near morning, but he has an early departure so he might as well get up.

“Could you pass on a bottle, chibi-chan? My mouth is drier than the Sahara.”

They’re still tangled up, but Hinaa doesn’t seem very bothered by the fact. He hands Oikawa the cool bottle, condensation wetting both of their palms. He sees the way Hinata wipes it off his T-shirt, and if that means he’s staring, then so be it.

“Oh! Water! I should drink that too.” Hinata proceeds to grab a bottle of his own, guzzling three-quarters of its content in one gulp. Oikawa is caught, mesmerized by the way the soft light from the bathroom paints Hinata’s neck golden. Rather than hand the bottle back to Hinata, he climbs over him and plops it on the nightstand.

Hinata lets out a tiny sound, which startles Oikawa. He pauses, realizing their position. This way, it would look to anyone that Oikawa is moving to straddle Hinata. His mouth dries despite the generous amount of water he’s just replenished. It’s a series of little things that unravels what little control Oikawa possesses: feeling like he’s in the middle of a dream still, the warmth generated between them, the soft hum of the air conditioner, the light from the poor curtains throwing them into sharp relief. Oikawa notices that Hinata is tan where he is pale. He might be taller (who isn’t?) but even under him, Hinata’s body is an image of potent vigour.

He thinks he’ll try and blame what he does on the alcohol, although there’s only a mild trace of it in his system—he’s far too gone to resist the simple slide of his body against Hinata’s, pressing his frame into the mattress. Hinata blinks up at him, his mouth open slightly. There is a sheen of spit on his lower lip that Oikawa wants to taste. The desire weighs deep in the pit of his stomach. That’s where his feelings hibernate, he believes, waiting to wake up and lay ruin to everything.

“Oikawa-san,” Hinata says, and his name is so damn sweet, dripping honey straight into Oikawa’s throat, filling him up.

“You know, it was my birthday a couple of days ago,” he murmurs, still partially over Hinata, aware of the friction between them as they breathed in a reckless tandem. He shifts one leg and now he’s got both knees properly bracketing Hinata’s waist, eyes tracing the tips of Hinata's hair where it’s splayed over the pillow. It’s way shorter than he used to wear it in high school. Oikawa skims the palm of one hand across Hinata’s neck, his heart hiccupping when he feels Hinata's uneven heartbeat. He reaches all the way to Hinata’s ear, then traces its shell. Whether his touch is deliberate or not, he doesn’t care. He has a hand in Hinata’s cloud of hair, and he’s enjoying it.

The way Hinata looks up at him is sweet, like a bucket of syrup dumped onto him. Hinata is doe-eyed yet as luminous as when he complimented Oikawa on the speed with which he picked up beach volleyball. It’s exhilarating. He wants to take a bite of Hinata's generous praise and store it for the times when the world conspires to bring him down.

“I didn’t know that.” Hinata’s voice is a susurrus in the quiet of the predawn darkness then he moves, and it’s like his limbs are smooth ice-cream, half melted over from the heat of the sun, slick where he puts a hand against Oikawa’s neck. The air grows unbearably hot. He panics over the way Hinata palms his face for a second, before thawing completely. He’s a snowman in the middle of spring. They are mirrors of hands against necks, counting every hitched breath and heartbeat. For a second, he thinks that this is romantic, then scrubs the idea from his mind. They are both slightly drunk. They’re dreaming, wading through desire. Nothing more, nothing less.

“I’m sorry I didn’t get you a gift,” Hinata murmurs, his throat vibrating against Oikawa’s hand.

 _Except you have,_ he wants to say but Hinata is moving now and with frightening honesty flips them over, pressing Oikawa into the same mattress he was hogging the entire night. He’s between Oikawa's legs before he can process how terrifyingly good it feels to have Hinata weighing him down, pinning his arms by the side of his head, his hold tight enough that Oikawa hopes he leaves bruises on him.

“How about I give you a little birthday present?” Hinata says, then dips his head to dart small licks alongside the hem of Oikawa’s shorts, flicking a long swipe of his tongue along the happy trail leading to his cock. Oikawa is definitely getting harder by each passing second where Hinata is breathing heavy and hot. He can’t help it. When a cute guy pushes him down and puts his face in the vicinity of his dick, Oikawa reacts. He’s hardly the first guy to act this way, and judging by the way Hinata seems entirely too familiar with the process of tugging off someone’s shorts with his _teeth_ , Oikawa _knows_ this isn’t Hinata's first time. Yet he still feels terribly tender when Hinata looks up at him through short lashes and says, “Is this okay, Oikawa-san?”

There is really no answer to that besides the utterly embarrassing way his cock stiffens and juts, prideful of its state, in Hinata's hands.

“Holy shit,” he croaks, then bites his lip against the sudden onslaught of lips, tongue, and breath, his heart squeezing in his chest. Hinata looks happy with himself, the way he looks up through his lashes, intentionally sexy, pushing all of Oikawa's buttons with a single _glance_.

 _How is this real,_ he ponders, before all his thought process comes to a screeching halt at the way Hinata single handedly scoops out his brain with the flick of his tongue. He’s licking at his cock, face screwed into bliss, and Oikawa wants to perish with his cock in Hinata's mouth. It seems like a good finale. Goodbye, world. You’ve been all right, but Hinata Shouyou is better.

This is possibly the sloppiest blow job he’s ever gotten, and he’s sampled Kyoutani’s overachieving attempts—then again, that guy never gave his all when it wasn’t Iwaizumi on the receiving end. Hinata sucks dick like it is fun, like he loves it even, his eyes sparkle, and his tongue lolls out to gently tease Oikawa's slit, drool trickling down his chin.

He worries Hinata is still drunk, heart panging with guilt, then Hinata's eyes gain a sharp quality when he says, “Do you want to come in my mouth?” There is no precise way to ascertain except asking, and Oikawa is too decent to take advantage of this lascivious version of an underclassman he’s admired.

He eases a hand out of Hinata's hold, shuddering when he sees the way his cock pushes out the inside of Hinata's mouth, and asks, “Are you aware that you have my dick in your mouth, Shouyou?”

Oikawa doesn’t know whether it’s using Hinata's first name, or the fact he bothers to ask, but he likes the way Hinata nods, bobbing his head up and down, throat relaxed and so fucking soft. He should be able to come just from this, Hinata's enthusiasm applying to cock sucking warms his heart.

But instead he gently eases his other hand out of Hinata's grip and slips it past those broad shoulders, feels his strength, borne of effort and endurance and so much fucking perseverance, and pulls Hinata towards him. It’s startling quiet now in the absence of Hinata’s slurping, they exchange a look that’s worth a thousand words, but he still wants to hear Hinata's voice, so he kisses the corner of his lips and asks, “Where did you learn to do that?” He’s all languid heat now, but he finds comfort in how Hinata gently slots his legs between his, his hips rocking against him, friction and heat turning him boneless.

“Here and there,” Hinata says elusively, and so Oikawa kisses him because it’s impossible not to. Hinata seems almost startled by the kiss, letting out a tiny squeak, muffled against Oikawa’s lips, but kisses with the same hunger he does everything. He grasps himself on Hinata’s tongue at first, then the lingering beer they have indulged at dinner, and underneath, Hinata’s heedy taste. He licks and laps at it. Hinata squirms in his hold—his arms have slid under Hinata's T-shirt, mapping out the highs and lows of Hinata's shoulders and back, marveling over his thickening waist, the sinew building there only emphasizes Hinata's journey. This body of his is far from the destination, and with a pang, Oikawa knows _he_ isn’t Hinata's endgame, but appreciates the pitstop life has created for them.

It’s fun and relaxed, Hinata’s giggling when Oikawa topples him over and messily takes off his shorts—pausing at the sight of Hinata's cock, long and thick; his mouth waters but then he sees Hinata's thighs and the agonizing ache persists in his lower back. They make a mess of themselves and the sheets, throwing clothes here and there, limbs bumping awkwardly then smoothly—Hinata says he likes being pushed down, and Oikawa takes a second to bite his fist over the fact. He is thankful his teammates pushed him to get supplies. (“It’s barely two weeks who would I meet?” “You never know, Tooru! Grab the bigger bottle.” “That’s strawberry flavored, you know.” “Shut up, I like sweet stuff.”)

“Really, strawberry?” Hinata asks now, watching Oikawa pour a generous amount in the palm of one hand.

Rather than defend his superior taste, Oikawa says, “Get on your knees, Shouyou. I’ll show you.”

He notices the way Hinata's eyelids get heavy and his breathing stutters, but he complies anyway, confident in his body and movements. Oikawa's cock protests the entire time. _Calm down_. Hinata is clearly not a stranger to the mechanics of being fingered, but the lines of his back are still taut with nerves, so Oikawa begins kissing the canvas of his back, leaving loving kisses where bruises and cuts have left a typography of hard work against Hinata's tan skin.

“What kind of exercise do you do?” he asks absently, curious and attempting to distract Hinata, and after throwing him a glance over one shoulder, Hinata begins talking. He talks of his routine, the meals he prepares, meeting up with his advisor. The words flow, and meanwhile, Oikawa begins by first rubbing the pad of one slick finger against Hinata's hole then marveling over how it relaxes and twitches for his touch. It’s slow work at first, but Hinata's body melts with every finger Oikawa slides into him until he’s a blubbering mess about protein and how he burned the first chicken breast he tried to grill.

Oikawa kisses a specific scar on the back of Hinata's thigh, licks a trail up to the rounded globes of his ass, his fingers working into Hinata, stretching him in a manner so messy he has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from hurrying.

It’s Hinata who looks over his back, face wet with sweat, and whines, “When are you going to stop with the fingers? I’m okay now.”

He hums. “Are you sure? I think I can do four.”

Hinata's ass shakes. “Oikawa-san,” he sighs.

Yeah. He’s at his limit too. He fumbles for a condom, but pauses when Hinata turns around and snatches it from his hand. “Let me do this much.” He dares to give Oikawa a private smile before putting the condom in his mouth and lowering his head over Oikawa’s lap—again?!— and sheathing him in one move. Oikawa is a man standing on the edge of a world begging him to fall, but he grits his teeth and waits out the sexiest sight he’s ever seen. He even lets Hinata push him back against the headboard.

“This position is the most comfortable for me.” Hinata moves with the ease of an experienced man, and Oikawa's blood boils, thinking of who got inside this man before him. It could be anyone. Since way before, Hinata's charm won him a spot in everyone’s hearts. Oikawa should know best. He’s one of the first victims of Hinata Shouyou’s loveliness.

He doesn’t let the fact he’s nowhere near being Hinata's first distract him and wraps his arms around Hinata's waist, helps him situate his ass over his thighs, kisses a drop of sweat that pools in the crook between Hinata's clavicles. All the while, Hinata eases Oikawa's cock into him, exhaling sharply when he bottoms out.

Oikawa has transcended into another realm entirely into a dimension where nothing existed that wasn’t Hinata's scent, warmth, care, and unquenchable thirst.

He’s the one burying his face in Hinata's neck at the first couple of thrusts, eyes squeezed shut against the onslaught of pleasure shooting through his spine, tightening his balls, and turning his palms clammy. Hinata holds him, voice soft as he murmurs sweet nothings Oikawa barely registers, but his hips keep up the dangerous task of untethering Oikawa's soul from his body. The give and take of their bodies loses rhythm, and they’re both panting, their voices getting a little more breathless and needier and honest with every buck and shudder.

He bites into Hinata's shoulder and murmurs an apology for the bruise he might leave there but he simply cannot listen to Hinata's breathless’ “There. There. Mmm. Yeah, yeah, okay, more there. Oikawa-san, you’re so good—” and stay calm.

He’s not any better, waxing poetry of how “Hinata's honey is the sweetest he’s ever dipped his cock into” and how he wants to “lose himself in the waves of his ocean.” He should be embarrassed but Hinata tightens around him and his cock is leaking between them, smearing hotly against Oikawa's stomach. His fingers adore the breadth of Hinata's hips, memorize the dip of his V and the wonder of his powerful thighs as they shake and persist in turning him inside out. He kisses Hinata over and over, lips curled into shocked moans when they climax together, then smile lazily. Hinata lingers a little over him, and Oikawa cock promises to recover promptly, but for now, he simply wants to hold Hinata and think of nothing but the tender way Hinata holds his hands.

Once coherent enough to get cleaned up—Oikawa disposes of the condom and grabs a wet towel for Hinata as well as two more bottles of water to replace all the hydration that their rigorous exercise has cost them. They settle onto the sheets, avoiding the wet spot which forces them to squeeze together in a hot yet comfortable embrace.

Unsurprisingly, Hinata is the bigger spoon, wrapping Oikawa tightly, his palms hot where they rub circles in Oikawa's back.

He doubts he’s falling in love, but he knows that this encounter, dreamlike as it is, is simply that. An encounter. They will wake up from this lovely reverie and move on with their lives. But for now, Oikawa is entangled with Hinata, their heartbeats relaxing into a rhythm beyond words.

Then, before the day truly begins, and they must shy away from _yet another drunken tryst_ , getting dressed in last night’s clothes. Hinata looks at Oikawa with the sun in his eyes, honest and straightforward.

“Happy birthday, Oikawa-san.”

Oikawa lets the words wriggle into his chest and build a nest in the base of his stomach. For now, he leans over Hinata's body as he ties his shoelaces, and places a kiss, a promise, on the top of Hinata's hair.

**Author's Note:**

> This is entirely jade's (@seijohuh) fault. Thank you for letting me talk your ears off about oihina.
> 
> if you also love thinking of soft hq stuff, join me. i'm on twitter as [@kuroosauce](https://twitter.com/kuroosauce)


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